


The Last of the Set

by shinodabear



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinodabear/pseuds/shinodabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The real people who stand in the shadow of the stories told about them don't always measure up. Sometimes, they are greater than the words people have spread. Phil Coulson doesn't put too much weight behind the stories of the Winter Soldier. All he sees is Captain America's plucky young sidekick and the one card in his collection he has yet to get signed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of the Set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daphnie_1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnie_1/gifts).



> for daphnie_1 who wanted Film!Bucky dealing with Young Sidekick Comics!Bucky

Nick Fury calls it his reintegration training. SHIELD will always opt for the fancy, shady words over straight talk. What it is is that America doesn't trust James Barnes anymore. He falls under SHIELD's jurisdiction because no one knows what to do with a solider from Captain America's special forces unit who doesn't look more than five years older from when he was lost. For all its intelligence, SHIELD doesn't have any idea what he has been up to for the seventy years he was missing and he doesn't intend on telling them. Only two other people who have stepped foot on the helicarrier know and only one of them knows the truth. Neither will tell. 

They put him in a comfort suite (read: holding cell with streamlined but cushioned furniture) and give him three squares a day plus a hot chocolate before lights out (they don't actually turn out his lights but they highly suggested a bedtime by cutting out everything else in the room). He has access to a gym, pool, and rec area – all under guard by either human or artificial intelligence. He plays cards on occasion with the night janitorial crew because they're the only guys Bucky believes are one hundred percent authentic. Everything else can burn to the ground for all he cares. They give him television, radio, and the internet. They give him info-packets, file folders filled to the brim with information on the end of the War (Stark and his H-bomb; Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and he barely flinches. It's written in his psych eval), the beginning of the next, and the next, and the other after that, and another, another, until he just places them all in the trash. 

"Once you've seen one," he'd commented to a green agent who had stared at the untouched pile like he'd been burning the flag. "You've seen them all."

They ask (pay for, but not with currency) Stark to drop by and give him an introduction to modern technology. He doesn't care about stem cells or cell phones or nanobots. He asks Stark about his weapons and laughs as the door hits him on the ass on his way out. It doesn't escape his notice that Stark has left a tablet behind, notably firewalled from prying eyes (SHIELD). Bucky does his own research after that, what he feels like and when he feels like it. He won't tell them that he already knows most of it. 

When he finds what he's looking for (conveniently compiled into a folder named "Yo, Bucky Balls!") he reads it carefully, reads the readme file attached, and deletes the file, then the folder, then wipes the drive. He closes the tablet and brings down his left arm until it's nothing but pieces. He's not sure SHIELD won't try and break into it while he's gone. 

He breaks out of his room and sneaks past the guards. It's not hard. He's been surviving in shadows for a long time. 

It's nothing to secure a car and disable the trackers. All of them. 

It speaks well of his training how he doesn't even bat an eye when, as he's pulling onto the highway from whatever dusty back road they'd had him in, Agent Coulson speaks from the back seat. "I had your trading cards, too." 

Bucky glances up at the rearview mirror and glares at the cool gaze looking back at him. He's had the pleasure of meeting Agent Philip Coulson for all of three brief minutes. He was there when they brought him in. Apparently he was also there while Bucky had gone under anesthetic. He'd seen Coulson's back as he awoke, leaving the room. He'd heard stories about Coulson, whispers overheard from the hallways. Bucky knows Coulson is a formidable man. Still, he is not afraid. He is annoyed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've been a card-carrying member of the Captain America fanclub ever since I was old enough to sign my own name – which was impressively early I'll have you know. I had your trading cards. I had the whole Captain America collection, or nearly did, most of them in near-mint condition."

"So you're a _collector_? What? You got me and Steve. Gonna go after Dum-Dum next? Or Gabe?"

"Timothy Dugan was involved with SHIELD on an advisory basis, becoming a contracted employee after the Korean War, so technically we have him already. Gabriel Jones and Jim Morita had brief contact with SHIELD over the years. Montgomery Falsworth went on to become the costumed hero Union Jack in England, in honor of his fallen friend. Jacque Dernier went his own path after the war. I'd attempt a joke at him being French but that would probably go over your head and I don't find it very funny to begin with." 

There's something about Coulson's monotone voice that puts Bucky on edge. He grits his teeth as he says, "I'd like to see you get your hands on the Torch." _And then the Torch to ignite and take you out._

"Mr. Hammond been decommissioned. Rather violently, unfortunately. He was a great service to his country. His remains are currently in the vaults. Thomas Raymond took over as the Human Torch after his death; he is currently retired. " 

Bucky begins to feel less sure. "Namor?" he asks, believing he'll need to recalculate the strength of the organization if they'd managed to get the Prince of Atlantis to sign any papers. 

"Whereabouts currently known, but there is no need to contact him. He doesn't play well with others." 

"Small miracles," Bucky mutters, breathing a small sigh of relief. 

Agent Coulson finally breaks eye contact. He turns his attention out the window to the setting sun. "I'm not a collector. I'm your handler." 

"I don't need one, thanks."

"Neither do Agents Barton or Romanoff. But I exist all the same." 

Bucky studies the agent's expression in the rearview mirror. Whatever's out on the road appears to be preoccupying him, but Bucky knows better. It's a front. It's always a front. This is the man who fought death and won. "Why are you here?"

"Because you broke out of holding." Before Bucky can refuse to come back in, Coulson continues: "And I had your trading cards." 

Bucky pulls over to the shoulder of the road and puts the car in park. He turns off the engine and turns in his seat. "All right, I'll bite. What trading cards?"

The smile that lights Coulson's face is not unlike Steve's smile from before, when he would find discarded treasures in the trashcans in alleyways as they'd been knocked over in a fight – usually by Steve being thrown at them. Coulson reaches into his jacket pocket and Bucky reflexively reaches for the gun at his own hip. The agent retrieves a small rectangular piece of cardboard from his pocket. It's inside of a plastic sleeve for its own protection. He clasps it between two fingers and hands it over to Bucky. "It's the only one to feature you solo from the original trading card run. It's from the Captain America comic book published shortly after his death. They figured he needed a mascot."

"A mascot?"

"Sidekick." Coulson jostles the card. "You can take it. Well, you can't keep it because it's part of my collection and I've spent a lot of time collecting that so I'd appreciate it back, but you can look at it. If you want." 

Bucky eyes the skinny weird kid in the domino mask with disdain. "No thanks." 

Coulson replaces the card in to his pocket gently, as if it were made of tissue paper. "I can give you a history of the character if you'd like. Fan reactions. Critical interpretations. Rival company's imitations."

"No _thank you_!" Bucky snaps. "I don't need you, SHIELD, or a _funny book_ to tell me about my own damn history, all right?" Bucky turns back round forward and restarts the car. He veers back into the road and ignores the speed limit. 

"You should use your directional," Coulson comments from the backseat. 

"Feel free to toss yourself outta the car," Bucky replies, rediscovering the voice he left in Brooklyn all those years ago. He's heading home; the change shouldn't surprise him. 

"You are nothing like the Bucky Barnes I grew up on." Coulson sounds awestruck at that. 

"Funny." Bucky says, making a gentle curve a sharp corner out of spite. Coulson, though, is unflappable. "You're everything like the stories of America I grew up on." 

"I fail to see how that's relevant."

"Then you're not Natalia's handler." It's too much information to give out, but Steve said that he could trust Coulson and Bucky trusts Steve. (Steve said he could trust _Coulson_ , not SHIELD. It's why Bucky hadn't put a bullet through Coulson's brain when they'd first turned on to the highway.) Then again, SHIELD thinks Natasha is the third of her codename. He's seen her file and had a good, private laugh over her birthdate. They don't know much. Rule number one: a woman always lies about her age, among other things. 

They travel in silence for nearly an hour, and then they hit Lincoln Tunnel. Their speed is reduced to a crawl. Bucky can hear the agent fidgeting. He turns off the radio he'd had on to signal that he was not in the mood to talk and prompts Coulson to spit it out. 

"I didn't realize you were a real soldier until I joined SHIELD and looked up Captain America's file. You were listed as Missing In Action."

"I always thought that was odd considering your age. Nothing's impossible but a man of 91 wouldn't exactly be cause for concern at SHIELD. I had assumed you died. I know better than to take things for face value now, of course. But the comics always mentioned you'd died. Never said how. "

Bucky doesn't point out that he'd been in all the propaganda films sent home. The real ones, not whatever Steve had gotten up to in that silly flag suit of his. Then again, he'd just been one of the Commandos at that point. No one ever asked his name. He was just "that sergeant with Captain America" most likely. Everyone watched the films for a glimpse at Steve. (Most of the good films were classified. Probably never made it out to the public.)

"What did they say about me?"

"That you grew up in Indiana. Military family, you moved around a lot, grew up on military bases until your dad died unexpectedly. Your mother had died years before. Your sister went on to a boarding school, but you elected to stay on base. You became a mascot of sorts for the camp and one fine morning your introduced to Private Steven Rogers. You became Captain America's plucky sidekick, Bucky Barnes, and held your best against the bad guys. Small kids liked you. They liked the little guy."

Bucky gives in to the snort. 

"Ironic, I know."

"Well, as you can see Agent, I'm not the little guy. And I'm not some plucky kid from Indiana."

"Your file indicates you were born –"

"I know what my file says. When are you gonna learn that not everything you read is the whole story?"

"I know that, Barnes. I grew up on the Captain America comics, the cartoon, the movies. When I sat by Steve's bedside, I told myself that I wouldn't judge him by what I'd read but by what he did. I told myself the same thing about Stark."

"And how'd that work out for you?"

"My heart still skips a few beats whenever Steve so much as looks at me. And I still want to punch Stark in the face." 

Bucky understands the impulse. "What stops you?"

"I read other stories. Sometimes Russian stories. Fables, really. Myths."

"Which is your favorite," he asks, hands tightening on the steering wheel because he knows what's coming. He braces himself because if he can't get over simply hearing the name.

"Anything with Baba Yaga. She eats children who misbehave. She'd made a great supernanny, don't you think?" 

He checks on Coulson in the mirror and the agent is smiling. "What? Thought I'd say something else?" 

"You're extremely irritating. Did anyone ever tell you that?" 

"I'm sure. But I'm not here to be your friend." 

"You're my handler."

"Something like that." 

"You came to spy on me."

"I came to get your autograph, but you started driving before I could safely exit the vehicle so. We're going to see Steve, right? He moved since the file's been updated. In with the rest of the Avengers at the Tower." 

"I know where it is." Directions had been waiting for him on Stark's tablet. 

"But do you know the security codes for Stark's private elevator?" Those had not been in the file. Understandably. Stark had cause to worry about intruders. 

"Wouldn't take much to crack them." He wonders if his EMP is still operational. 

"I'll make it easier on you." 

"What's your price?"

Coulson pulls the card from his pocket. He takes it out of its protective sleeve and digs into his other pocket for a pen. "Just a signature. And only a signature. I don't want you to compromise the value by bending any corners." 

He signs his full name, rank and all, in the Roman alphabet and hands it over without a word. 

By the time they come out the other side, Phil is riding shotgun and Jimi Hendrix's guitar is gracing the speakers. The windows are rolled down and Phil's suit jacket is off. He's got his shirt rolled at the sleeves and has donned a pair of sunglasses. The card lies protected in his shirt pocket, in a plastic sleeve inside of a plastic sleeve. Bucky thinks Coulson is an odd man, an annoying man, but perhaps he's everything the hallways whispered and more. 

"I've never been no do-gooder sidekick," he says as he makes the turn on to Park Avenue. 

"You mean the world to Steve Rogers, sir." Coulson says, respectfully still looking out of the window. "There aren't many men who can claim that honor. Somehow, you're the best of us all. Not so different from the comics after all." 

Bucky glances at the pocket that contains the trading card. "I don't wear tights." 

Coulson smiles with more personality than Bucky's witnessed anyone having on the drab gray flying ship. "But I've already designed your new uniform."


End file.
